


Set Fire to Reason

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam knows that when he gets hurt on a hunt, Dean will look after him, no matter what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Fire to Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for skeletal_grin. Betaed by the ever lovely majestic_shriek. Strong warnings for borderline underage (Sam is 16), wincest, first time and a fuck or die scenario. The title seems appropriate.

Sam was on fire. He burned, inside and out. Every brush of his clothes against the leather back seat of the car made him writhe and groan, certain he was going to burst into flame any moment.

Dad was at the wheel, grimly focused, Dean sat beside him, twisted round to watch Sam. Sam fixed his eyes on that concerned face and thought cool thoughts. It’ll be okay. Dean will look after him. Dean will know what to do.

There’s a cut on his thigh and one on his chest and they’re oozing blood.

 

Dean carried him into the motel room like he used to when Sam was a child. Sam tried to hold up his head, make some protest, but the fire in his veins, tiny racing ant bites of pain on his skin, made it impossible.

The engine roared; Dad’s gone. Sam couldn’t help biting back a whimper. Then Dean was there.

“Hush. He’s going to kill it. I’m gonna get you cleaned up. Hear that, Sammy? Gonna take care of you.” Sam fixed his eyes on Dean’s worried ones. Dean ran his hand over Sam’s hair now, pushing the unruly locks back off his forehead and that’s it. Sam can get control of his breathing again, finally dragging enough air in and out of his lungs.

Then Dean lifted up his shirt.

The merest brush of fingertips sent another rush of that heat through Sam and made his back arch, his hips thrust. The burning stopped being painful, entirely, and started to feel good too. Dean’s hands, rough with gun callouses and car maintenance, make his skin cool and concentrate the fire in his dick, forcing it to thicken and push against his zipper.

Dean didn’t notice. Instead he pushed Sam’s t-shirt up and eased it over his head. “Hey, man. Know it hurts. It’ll get better soon.”

The cut in his side was shallow, only drippling out a thin trickle of blood. But the effect it was having on him wasn’t that of a normal cut. There must have been something on the creature’s claws. “Dean. Hot.” It’s all Sam could say. His tongue caressed around his brother’s name, drawing it out like a curse or a cry. He wanted to pant it again and he was close to losing the will to contain himself.

Dean’s hands were drawn to him like magnets, feeling his forehead, his cheek, his rabbiting pulse. One landed over his heart, fingertips catching his nipple which sent another spike of lust through his gut. The nub hardened, wanting. Sam wanted Dean to lean over and taste it, flick it with his tongue, draw it into his mouth until it was red and sore and worn. The very idea drew out another gasp from Sam.

“The cuts aren’t deep, shouldn’t be…” Dean suddenly lunged back. Sam followed the movement with his eyes, turning his head to see Dean fold himself against the other bed, one hand over his mouth in shock. He fumbled the cell out of his pocket, lifting his hips to do so and Sam moaned, stretched his hand out over the side of the bed. He’s ready to beg.

“Dad. I know. Listen.” Dean’s eyes travelled up and down Sam’s body and Sam wished he wasn’t so skinny, all limbs and hair. He always wants to be more like Dean, with his broad shoulders and the way his abs ripple when he strips off his t-shirt. He wants to lick down those ridges, follow the trail of hair right to Dean’s dick. Sam was only aware that his hand was following the path when Dean lurched back across the gap between the beds and grabbed at his hand, keeping it firmly above his belt. “It’s getting worse. He’s – Sam’s- he’s all turned on and shit.”

Sam’s not sure when his other hand grabbed at his brother’s shirt, but he nearly sighed in relief when his hand worked its way underneath to touch Dean’s skin. It’s warm and smooth except when Sam’s questing fingers work their way over a healed wound, scar tissue. He’s got his fair share of scars, but fewer than Dean. Dean always jumps in front of him.

Dean was still talking into the cell but Sam had stopped listening, hand working its way around Dean’s chest. He brushed a nipple, drinking in the widening of Dean’s eyes, the way his mouth hung open, tongue rasping across the pink of his lips. Sam brushed his fingertips across it again, tugged the nub, then made a sound he can only allow to be described as a whine when Dean brought up his hand to bat it away.

The call ended and Dean stood a little too far away for Sam’s comfort. The burning was back, pushing all other thoughts away. All pain forgotten, all idea of right and wrong. All Sam wanted was for his brother to come close, to kiss, suck, fuck him. It was enough to make Sam try to push himself up, to scrabble forward. His limbs weren’t strong enough though. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“Sam! No- Don’t!” Dean came close and took Sam’s arms. He ended up pinioning Sam’s wrists above his head, near the old fashioned wrought iron bedstead. Sam writhed, desperate for more touch. “Don’t want you hurting yourself,” Dean muttered to himself as he cast his eyes desperately around the room before returning to Sam. “Fuck.”

Dean unfastened his belt, drawing it out of his belt loops in one smooth movement. The old battered leather felt soft when it landed on Sam’s chest. Dean was tantalisingly close, wrapping his free arm under Sam’s butt and using the shock and surprise to land him six inches further up the bed. Sam was too busy recovering, wriggling, letting the flush of the arousal settle back, to notice that Dean had been successful in fastening his arms to the headboard with his belt. Sam couldn’t help his legs kicking out, trying to wrap around Dean as Dean pulled away, hand wiping over his mouth.

“It’s gonna be fine, Sammy. Gonna be fine.” Sam wasn’t sure it was ever going to be fine again. Even Dean’s voice made him burn, those flames spiking all over his body: his chest, his throat, the back of his knees. Most of all, his dick, which seems to be trying to fight its way out of his baggy jeans. And his ass.

Sam had seen porn. He lived with his brother, for crying out loud. His brother knew exactly where and when to find the best porn no matter which motel they were in at the time. It had gotten a little better since Dean had moved on to actual girls, he supposed, but there was still a hell of a lot of porn in the Winchester consciousness. And most of it was just tits and the odd flash of ass, sure enough. But sometimes. Sometimes Sam got to see the really nasty stuff. It felt like he wanted all that right now. He wanted Dean to strip off his jeans, force his legs up and go to town on his dick, his ass. Being tied down was worse now, because he couldn’t attempt to drag Dean against him, push his head down.

A gentle brush of fingers near the cut on his side made Sam flutter his eyes open. Dean was hovering over it, on his knees beside the bed again, a damp towel in one hand. “Just- Let me touch you a little, Sam.” Then he was wiping the cloth over Sam’s skin, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration. “Dad says it’s a succubus.” Sam held on to Dean’s words, fighting his way out of the fog his mind was in. “Make you want to fuck. He’s going to kill it.”

Dean finished wiping the blood away. He fumbled some anti-sceptic cream onto Sam’s skin before covering the slice with the gauze he had ready. The thrum of want didn’t lessen. “What happens if he doesn’t?”

Sam realised these were the first words he’d really managed to get out since this whole thing began. “He always kills the monster. Right, Sammy?” Dean was keeping his voice even but Sam could see through the act. He knew Dean was worried.

“Will I burn up?” Sam could feel another wave of the fire start to build. He was sure he must be red and sweating and disgusting.

Dean didn’t seem to think he was disgusting. Instead Dean brushed his fingertips through the hair that had fallen over his eyes again. “Not gonna let it happen, bro.” The fingertips lingered, tracing down the side of his face, the line of his jaw. “Maybe cleaning the cuts’ll help.”

Sam knew it was coming, but Dean’s hands on his waistband, unfastening his belt with the minimal required movements before finally letting his zipper down and freeing his dick from its metal prison, was a surprise. He lifted his hips to let Dean work the loose denim down, suddenly sad that Dean didn’t take his boxers down with the jeans. The air on his newly bared skin should have been a relief but instead made him feel even more on fire. Every single one of the hairs on his legs seemed to be caught by the jeans on their way down, leaving him tingling. Dean even worked off his socks and sneakers, Sam splayed on the bed in only his boxers.

It seemed like an eternity before Dean returned to clean the slightly deeper clawed wound on his thigh. Dean’s hands were nearly big enough to encircle the whole of his legs. And thoughts of Dean’s hands and encircling made Sam think of Dean’s hands wrapping around his cock and pulling. His hips shot off the bed again. The whole thing was made worse when Dean pinned his hips flat, holding him to the bed.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Dean’s breath seemed to be coming a little quicker now. His voice was rasping. “Gotta stay still.”

Sam tried to obey, tried hard. Dean’s hands were gentle on his leg, wiping the blood away, cleaning the cut. Making it all better like he always seemed to. When the gauze was in place, Sam expected Dean to run for the bathroom, hide himself away, let Sam suffer through this until his dad killed the creature or the fire inside him left his skin a smoking shell. Dean didn’t move far, letting his hand rest on Sam’s leg.

“Is it- It’s easier when I touch you?” Dean watched for Sam’s nod. “I think- I want to touch you, Sammy.”

Dean unfurled himself from his crouch on the floor and came to lie alongside Sam on the bed. He was still in his muddy jeans but none of that mattered as he came close. “I want to make it stop, Sammy.” Dean spoke so quietly that Sam had to strain to hear. Then Dean’s hand was cool across his stomach, sliding until his fingertip touched the elastic of his boxers.

“Do it.” Sam tried to make it an order but it came out breathy, pleading.

Dean’s hand froze. “I think the succubus got me too.” Sam could see the muscles in his arm straining as Dean kept it in place, stopped it moving further down. Sam even tried shifting his hips to make Dean touch him. The flames under his skin centred on the touch, making Sam’s stomach muscles jump and contract. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Sam turned his head in the cradle of his arms. He longed to have the freedom to push up, to take the initiative. Instead he could see the way Dean’s tongue twitched against his lips, drying swiping back and forth. The way Dean’s throat worked as he swallowed.

“Fuck, Sam. Fuck. You’re my brother.” Dean’s words seemed to be torn from his innermost thoughts from the way he let them reluctantly spill forth. He swung up and over, thighs on either side of Sam’s, holding him to the bed. He dropped his head until his mouth was positioned perfectly over Sam’s. Then he came closer, so slowly it made glaciers look hurried, before brushing his lips gently against Sam’s eagerly parted mouth.

Sam concentrated on the feel of those lips, the way his brother teased his mouth and made all pain, all fire, all strain and anger just slide away. He raised his neck, as much as he could, to kiss back, clumsy, he knew, all tongue and teeth. Dean followed him back down, confidence growing as his dipped his tongue in to taste Sam fully. Sam knew he was letting little noises of want loose. He should be embarrassed by them, he knew.

“Shh, Sammy. It’ll be fine.” Dean reassured by kissing softly again. Sam met his eyes, trying to convey just how much he wanted it, needed it. Just how happy he was for Dean to keep going. Then the cell rang out again.

“Yeah, Dad?” Dean left Sam shivering on the bed, unable to even palm his cock to relieve the building pressure again. The benefits from Dean’s touch seemed to vanish and the fire was back, twice as hot, building to a furnace. Sam thrashed his legs on the bed, desperate to get free.

Dean was back, suddenly. “It’s getting worse?”

Sam nodded, arching under the pressure of another doubled rush of heat. Dean bit at his lips again before shrugging out of both his shirts and throwing them to the floor. He stretched out over Sam again, letting their naked skin rub against each other. Sam calmed, immediately.

“Dad says he’s close. Just got to keep you sane ‘til then.” Dean’s hands were back stroking at Sam’s hair. “Keep you from burning up.”

Dean pressed his mouth to Sam’s again, deepening the kiss almost instantly. Sam was caught up in the kiss, opening his mouth wide to suck on Dean’s tongue. It was almost too good. Better than he’d dreamed, those dreams that came in the darkest of night, that Sam was ashamed to remember afterwards. His skin was burning with a different type of heat now, lust overriding all else. Sam used his legs to pull Dean closer. It was then that he realised Dean was hard.

Dean had his jeans on, gaping slightly without his belt. The rough denim was half pain, half pleasure as it dragged against Sam’s skin and he thrust up against the feeling. The solid line of Dean’s dick just made it all the better. Sam rode the feeling for all it was worth, while Dean continued to plunder his mouth, fucking it with his tongue. Sam writhed for all he was worth but the cliff edge he was aiming for hung just out of reach.

“Fuck, Sam.” Dean pulled his head back and let his forehead rest against Sam’s. “I can’t.”

“I need-“ Sam looked up at his big brother, his only constant. “More, Dean. Need more.”

Dean kissed him again, tongue flicking against his teeth. Then he kissed his way along Sam’s jaw, down his throat and up again, biting barely, leaving a trail of tiny fireflies in his wake. Then he sat up, ignoring Sam’s protest. Sam watched as Dean popped the button on his jeans, hesitating over the zipper before looking at the damp stained ceiling and dragging it down swiftly. His briefs followed, until he was kneeling between Sam’s spread legs naked. He hopped backwards, awkwardly, nearly falling off the end of the bed. Sam panicked, wondering where he was going before Dean leaned over him, placing a kiss on his stomach, on the curve of his hip. Dean took a firm grip on Sam’s boxers, fingers entwined in the thin cotton.

He hesitated, shuddering breaths in and out. Then he nodded, reaching some internal resolution, before pulling off the underwear. Dean kept his eyes fixed on it, working it off Sam’s slender ankle, before, almost reluctantly, bringing his eyes back to the point of Sam’s body that seemed to suddenly be the centre of both their worlds. Sam watched as his cock twitched, a blurt of come welling up out of the slit. Dean moved, swift, mouth held open and wet above Sam’s dick. Sam could feel the air forcing itself in and out of Dean’s lungs and he lifted his hips, seeking, wanting.

Dean seemed to read his mind, not that thought and reason had any place here. Sam was being driven by something animal, instinctual and powerful. The wracking heat started up again, waves making his legs twitch, his head toss back against the pillow. Dean seemed to come to a decision then, lowering his head to suck Sam in.

Sam’s dating history to date included three make out sessions, one on top of blouse fondle, one grope below the belt. Nothing had prepared him for the warmth and welcoming heat of Dean’s mouth. Sam didn’t even think about whether Dean knew what he was doing as the eyes rolled back in his head. Dean’s tongue swirled around the head, dipping into the slit. Spit ran down the shaft and, instead of feeling gross, Sam relished the wet slick. Dean used one of his hands to hold tight, point Sam’s dick into his throat, swallowing down before lifting off and kissing down the shaft. Then he held it out of the way to lap and bite gently at Sam’s balls.

Sam spread this thighs wider, hitching one leg over Dean’s shoulder and letting him work. Every movement of his mouth, every kiss, lick, bite made the fire lessen, fall back. Dean worked his way back up, sucking the head of Sam’s dick into his mouth again and suckling it. He pulled off with a pop, coming up to kiss Sam’s mouth again. Sam moaned into the kiss, tasting himself.

“Sam, you’ve got to come,” Dean told him, pulling off to kiss at his neck, his collar bone.

“I can’t.” Dean leaned against him, so close Sam could feel his heart pounding through their joined skin. Sam tried to concentrate on it, tried hard, but the fire was back again, making him twist and pull against his restraints. “It hurts.”

Dean dragged his hand up Sam’s side. “There’s... There’s something. But it’ll hurt and you can’t say no. And-”

“Do it.” The burning intensified as Dean slid off the bed and rummaged in his duffel. “Dean, I need-” Then Dean was back at Sam’s side, one hand idly stroking up and down his dick.

“Legs wide, Sammy.” For all that he immediately obeyed, Sam couldn’t miss the tremble of hesitation in Dean’s voice. Dean refused to meet his eyes, focused now on the space between Sam’s legs. He opened the tube and squirted clear liquid onto his hand, too much liquid. Sam watched in fascination as Dean brought it close. He tilted his hips up when he realised, suddenly, idiotically late, what Dean was doing.

The clumsy brush of Dean’s finger at his hole made Sam let out a long litany of moans and groans. Dean hesitated as Sam wriggled trying to force the tiny intrusion deeper. Dean huffed out a breath before pushing forward. It was uncomfortable, an invasion definitely, but the full feeling made Sam’s dick strain even more upright, made his balls tighten. The feeling exploded as Dean worked his finger in and out, each drag of skin making Sam cry out wordlessly. Dean was talking to him, reassuring perhaps. Sam didn’t hear it, all his attention on the drive of Dean’s finger, then fingers, working him open.

The twist, crook, pull was enough to keep the fires at bay for a while. Sweat gathered and cooled in the hollow at the base of Sam’s neck, in the curve of his hips. Sometimes Dean would lean forward to suckle the mouth of Sam’s cock, to stoke at his balls, to kiss him. Sam was reduced to panting mess on the bed yet still he didn’t come.

The fever demanded more to stop. Sam was lost in sensation, every nerve a razor wire, when of course another rush of burning pain roared through his body.

“Did I hurt you?” Dean bit out, pulling his hand free.

Sam rolled his head from side to side, frantically. “No, no. More, Dean. Need more.”

Dean called out his name, sweeping the sweat soaked hair back from Sam’s face. His expression was hesitant, regretful, but his lube covered hand was eager on his hard cock, slicking it thoroughly. “It’s gonna hurt,” he warned.

“Want it.” Sam had to force the words out. “Wanted it. For ages.”

Dean froze in the kiss he was placing on Sam’s forehead. He pulled back, making eye contact reluctantly. Sam knew he looked embarrassed at admitting it, but he nodded seriously before another wave of heat made him twist on the bed. Dean clutched at him, trying to hold him flat, before kneeling up between Sam’s legs.

The slippery push of Dean’s dick shocked the breath out of Sam. It did hurt, but it was the type of hurt that Sam got from pushing his muscle just far enough in training, the burn that said that next time would be easier. Then Sam stopped trying to think. Everything became about feeling. The stroke of Dean’s hands, the puff of Dean’s breath against his shoulder. The roll of Dean’s hips. Sam wrapped his narrow legs around Dean’s hips and held on tight as Dean fucked him.

The pressure building in the base of his spine grew and spilled to take his whole body with it. He was no longer tied to a bed in that miserable motel room. Instead Sam was floating on a bed of white light as Dean fucked him harder and harder.

Both of them were aware when the hold the creature had on Sam was broken. Sam’s head cleared, suddenly, and he and Dean both froze. The cell rang again and Dean reached out his hand and grabbed it.

“Yeah. Dad. Yeah. Sam’s okay.” Dean rested his body down on Sam’s, his racing heart testimony to the hard physical labour he’d been engaged in. “Soon. Right.”

Dean dumped the phone off the side of the bed then he reached up and unfastened Sam’s arms. Sam moaned as the movement meant Dean’s abs rubbed against his still hard dick. Sam used his free hands to grab at Dean’s shoulders to stop him pulling away. He echoed the action with his legs. “Dean, please. Finish it.”

There was a moment when Dean seemed ready to break free regardless of Sam’s wishes before he rolled his hips again. His hand wormed between them to pull at Sam’s cock as he drove into Sam again. “Fuck. Wrong.”

It didn’t take more than a few strokes for Sam to push up in Dean’s embrace and spill over his stomach and Dean’s hand. It was relief and pleasure bound into one. Dean stiffened against him, continuing to fuck through the last of Sam’s orgasm. Sam let his arms drop to either side, unhooking his ankles to lie flat on the bed. Dean rolled to the side.

“God, I need to shower.” Dean’s words made Sam giggle, still riding high on the feelings ratcheting around his body. He rolled his head to the side, meeting Dean’s bright eyes. “And you really need to shower.”

Sam made a tired flapping motion with his hand. All he wanted to do was sleep for a week. He was aware of Dean moving off the bed and let his eyes flutter closed. He roused at gentle hands wiping a towel over his body, wiping away the worst of the sweat and come. Then Dean worked his boxers back up Sam’s legs, hooking them over his hips and then pulling the sheets down to wrap Sam in them.

“Dean?” Sam asked sleepily. “Don’t hate me.”

There was a shocked intake of breath. “Never, Sammy. You’re my brother. Couldn’t hate you.” Sam was aware of a faint kiss over his hair before a stronger one was pressed to his lips.

Sam knew he was smiling as he fell asleep.


End file.
